There is a final unsheathed blade

Oaths sworn in centuries past are from forgotten

Fools fester; I flee to freedom, forbearance, and faith

From this soulless Alcatraz I bare my will to Avalon

Presidents and Kings are no different, but they are not the same

The rocket’s red glare holds nothing over the heralding trumpets

Though they sound only in my mind, that must suffice

I am a man enamored with honor,

to whom hope and despair have been betrothed

To the land of Gwain

Not to here, and not to now

In virtue there is solace

But not here,

Not in this, the land of crows

The dead have made their mark, but the young have washed it away

Is there no heart to be found beneath the debauchery?

Is there not a true man here in Sodom?

The dove is soon devoured by vultures

I am a Galahad in Gomorrah

There are some Goliaths even David cannot conquer

From glass fortresses of the tycoons

To the wicked ghettos of the unprincipled hyenas that prowl the streets

All have become dens of thieves, the basilisk of sin taps it’s claws in glee

Malice rears it’s ugly head, evermore I yearn for Camelot

The scholarly are outcast in favor of the dotterel

I love what was to be

I despise what has become

The uplifting tide that was once enlightenment

Drifted into a mindless pit

The once proud minds reside as broken coral

Reminder of a time when this was not a Land of Crows

The heroes are scorned and the unjust are praised

The good bear the scars of the hateful lash

And they bear that cross in silence

And when they heave their last sigh, they are forgotten

The pimps and the gangsters tread of the grave chivalry

The brave and the dead and brothers

Who will remember the martyrs?

When hell, from it’s deepest boughs, drags the stars into oblivion

And Time, like a tide, erases the marks we’ve made in the sand

Will Camelot be recalled? Will it’s hour return at last?

The idiots dance and the poets lament

“Turning and turning in this widening gyre”

Will the fools think and the blind see?

Can fire do what man cannot?

“This is the way the world ends”

Said the king on his throne of skulls,

“Not with a bang, but with a whimper”

Azrael smiles and shakes his head

Arthur succumbs to a pauper’s grave

A gallantry forgotten can play with a man’s mind

Purification is a painful purgatory

But change always is

Born into the wrong time

Must the knight be the catalyst

Whilst Satan’s tongue strangles the dream

Must the gentlemen sever the beast’s head

Death and Change walk hand in hand

With Fate and Force behind them

On a pale horse charges into the night

And I am it’s rider.